The List 25: Its Hair is for Being Pulled

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: The trunk lid slammed close, and she walked around the car to the front. Her purse hit the passenger’s seat with a thump, and she hit the garage door opener as she started the car. They pulled out of the garage, down the drive, and onto the street. She hit play on the CD player and started driving, thinking about what she was going to do next.

She drove around in circles with him in the trunk, flipping the CD player from song to song with short, impatient jabs. Scenarios ran through her mind, vignettes of torture and degradation that she considered and rejected. Finally her eyes narrowed, and she made a U-turn and headed back to their house. She opened the garage door from the street so he wouldn’t hear the noise and drove by, going around the block and pulling slowly into the garage.

The pillow case on his head trapped his breath, turning the skin on his face hot and clammy while his body shivered in the trunk. His cock and balls still burned with the steady chemical heat, and he flexed his shoulders to work out the tension from having his hands chained behind his back. He tried to imagine what might happen next, his cock twitching in spite of the pain still radiating through his body as he imagined being forced to suffer and do horrible things until her hunger was sated on his torture. Of humiliation and degradation that would end when she was done with him, and not before. His head thumped against the back seat as the car came to a stop, and he wiped the sweat off his palms.

She grabbed her purse and slid out of the car, then walked around to the trunk. She pulled the strapon from her purse and balanced on one foot as she fed a leg through the harness, then jerked the straps, cinching them down tight and buckling them in place over her clothes. She found a place on a clean shelf to put her purse, and got out the small pair of scissors she carried. She walked over to the trunk, slid the key in, took a deep breath, and gave it a twist.

He jumped at the sound of the mechanical clunk and shivered as cool air flooded the trunk. “Stay still, I’d hate to cut anything off accidentally.” Her voice came to him through the cloth and he froze in the act of turning his face towards the back of the car. Her hand slid down his face, molding the cloth to his features, going down over his nose and stopping at his lips. The cloth moved away from his face, and then flattened and tore. Metal jaws appeared through the cloth and with small chewing motions tore through until there was a hole in the pillowcase. The scissors disappeared and then he felt the hand back on the top of his head, pulling the pillow case away and cutting another hole in the top.

“Get out.” She tossed the scissors in the trunk and guided his awkward movements over the lip of the trunk and onto the concrete floor. She purred in pleasure as he automatically sank to his knees, both of them gasping as they hit the cold concrete. “Oh, fuck it.” She reached through the hole on the top of the pillow case and grabbed a handful of hair, turning her wrist and wrenching the filaments tight, pulling his scalp away from his skull. “I was going to do a mindfuck, but…” She moaned, trying to remember the elaborate plan. “Tell you the person you gave such bad advice to was here for an apology blowjob, but you know what? I don’t want to share you, I just want to fuck your face.”

She fed the dildo through the hole in the pillow case, pushing it past the slight resistance as the latex tip slid off his cheek and into his mouth. Her hand jerked his hair towards her and his head followed, the dildo filling his mouth, then her hand shoving his head back, dragging it across his lips. Drool ran down his chin as she sawed his head back and forth on the cock, fucking his face, sliding it in until he started to gurgle then jerking it back out.

His muscles slumped every time she pulled on his hair, signs of resistance evaporating under her control. “I could do just about anything to you, as long as I pulled your hair, couldn’t I?” A long gurgle came out of the pillow case, and she nodded back. “Oh yes, you turn into a complete slut when someone pulls on your hair.” She flicked her hand back and forth, jerking his hair one way then the other, to confirm it, and then sighed and tried to keep her hips perfectly still as she worked his mouth up and down her cock. “I could drag you down this street on your knees with my cock in your mouth, and as long as I pulled your hair, you’d be the happiest little slut in town.”

Happy sighs murmured past her lips as she raped his face, making him gag on her cock and dragging spit out of his mouth. She closed her eyes and suddenly stopped, holding his head in place with the cock halfway in his mouth, prying his lips open, disappearing into the white cloth that left him a little less than human. A perfect moment of contentment washed over her, and the tension ran out of her muscles. She stood there silently enjoying it until it washed away, then reluctantly pulled the cock all the way out of his mouth.

“Come on, get up.” She helped him to his feet, and reached around to shut the trunk of the car behind him. She carefully led him into the house, grabbing her purse and shutting the garage door as they walked by. She walked him into the bathroom, and raised an eyebrow, looking at him one last time before raising the pillow case and pulling it off his head. He blinked at the sudden light as she pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s it, end of the list. What now?”

Preview: The grand finale! Or more of an epilogue really. Maybe some sort of closure? Were they dead the entire time? What a twist that would be!

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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The List 13: Its Stomach is for Having Degrading Words Written On

Click here for part 1

From part 12: She grinned down at him, and licked her lips with exaggerated sensuality. “Now, about your stomach.”

She hopped up long enough to get the keys and a magic marker, then squatted down to undo the cuffs. She let out a soft, happy sigh as the cuffs opened and his hands slid down to his sides. She tossed them under the bed where neither of them would step on them, and stood up. Her foot nudged his side. “Roll over, that stomach isn’t being put to very good use.”

He sighed back and rolled over, stretching his arms and putting his hands behind his head. He grinned up at her, and she lightly kicked his leg. “I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you. There are… consequences to the writing this time.”

He frowned. “Consequences? What kind of consequences?”

“Yep.” She grinned and licked her lips. “We can write anything you want, but I get to make it happen until the writing fades away.”

His frown deepened. “So if you write cum dumpster, wait, that’s not cool.”

“I know.” She sat down beside him, and pulled the lid off the marker. She gave him an innocent look, and let the tip of the marker hover above his stomach. “So what do you want me to write? You want to be a cum dumpster for a few days?”

“Give me a second here.” He tried to think, to remember how long it took the magic marker to fade away to illegibility. Could he scrub it off sooner? She moved the pen in a circle over his stomach, and started making ticking noises. Signs she was getting bored, and might start making decisions for him. He thought quickly, and decided to chose something safe. “Please write boot-licker, ma’am.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but started writing down the side of his stomach. The pen stopped, and she looked back at him. “Well?”

He licked his lips, still trying to work through all the implications, trying to think of the usual words, but consider what it would mean if they became reality. “Cunt-licker?”

She sighed, and started writing the words just above the others. “Someone is playing it safe. My advice would be to make it interesting, or we can start over and maybe by the time we get to your stomach you’ll have some good words for me.”

He flinched, the pain in his feet and legs, the raw, hairless skin on his testicles reminding him how the day had gone so far. “Piss slut, ma’am.”

Her head nodded slightly. “Better.” He could feel her pressing down on the marker harder, going over the letters twice, making them darker, making them last longer. “I do enjoy peeing on you, and I imagine I could find some friends willing to piss all over you, or at least collect a few jars. I mean, a slut should really want all the piss he could get in his filthy mouth, shouldn’t he?”

He felt his cock twitch, and wondered if she was bluffing, but knew that asking or arguing would only push her further. “Yes, ma’am.”

She dotted the i with a little heart, and looked poked him between two ribs with the end of the pen. “Come on, I’ve got lots of space left, and you’ve only got three words.”

His jaw worked, but no words came out. All the possible consequences of the words written on his body coming true, of being unable to stop them for days, until the writing faded, overwhelmed him. His thoughts retreated, and all he could think of was the conflicting humiliation and desire of being treated like a sex toy, a cum dumpster, a fuck pig, a hole.

She started to get up. “We started with caning the feet, didn’t we? Why don’t I just get the cane.”

“Hole ma’am, hole.” He blurted out the word, trying not to think of the consequences, and she slowly sat back down.

“All right, if you want to be a hole, we’ll make you a hole.” She shifted her weight slightly and wrote the word just above his navel, the felt tip tickling as it moved across his skin. “Next?”

“Ugh.” He groaned, and forced the word out. “Slave, ma’am.”

“Oh, I like that one.” He could feel her making large, block letters on his stomach. The tip of the pen moved back and forth, making the letters darker and bolder, making sure they would last longer. “I have a lot of chores that need doing, and the perfect little burlap bag for you to wear while you do them. And of course I’ll be punishing you harshly for any mistakes or delays in getting them done.”

She hummed happily as she pushed the marker down hard into his skin, making him, making sure the word would last as long as possible. She looked her work over critically, then darkened in a curve of the s and smiled at him. “I think we have room for one more word, and some of these aren’t even degrading. I mean does licking my cunt really degrade you? It’s probably more degrading to me, wouldn’t you say?”

His head jerked, his brain desperate to stay safe in warm fantasy where consequences could be ignored, and he gasped out the words. “Yes ma’am.”

“So what do we think the final word should be?”

He whimpered, caught between his desires and his fears. Finally, he forced the words out. “Cum dumpster ma’am.”

Her nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head. “Oh really? You’re sure?”

“Yes ma’am.” He whimpered.

She thought for a second, then decided to drive him down a little further, force him to participate in the obscene ritual. “Say please.”

He exhaled and then inhaled, trying not to think about the words. “Please make me a cum dumpster, ma’am.”

She smiled and patted his head gently. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll do that for you. On your side, so I can write legibly.”

He rolled over, and she leaned one arm against him and carefully began to write. “Such a nice cum dumpster. I suppose that will mean regular milkings, with you licking your cum off the floor.” He shivered, and she waited for him to stop before she continued. “Or maybe we’ll save it up, and just before the letters fade, you can drink it all down for me. How long do you think it’ll take for the letters to disappear? How much of your cum do you think I can squeeze out of your balls in that amount of time?”

His cock twitched. She smiled at the sight, put the lid back on the marker, and licked her lips. “You stay there, and let that get nice and dry.”

She let her eyes roam over the words written on his body, and felt a warm sensation run through her body. This had been foreplay, and the anticipation was delicious. But hitting his chest, punching him, listening to his little gasps and moans as she injured his flesh with her hands, that was immediate gratification. And she wanted him well rested, so it would last awhile.

Preview: A chest is for being punched, aye, isn’t it?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The Extremely Popular Game of Manual Dexterity

She was grinning. It was the slightly goofy, slightly dorky grin she wore whenever she had already won something. When he was painted into a corner, or couldn’t escape.

Except the game hadn’t started yet.

He was pretty sure it hadn’t started yet, anyway.

He started to ask, but shrugged instead. She wouldn’t tell him until she was ready to, and he wouldn’t want to take away her enjoyment in watching him find out. He took a deep breath, and slowly slid one of the wooden pieces out of the tower.

As he slowly pulled it out, letters started to emerge. He narrowed his eyes. “30 minutes in the hood.” He coughed, his claustrophobia making his chest tighten a little at the thought of the cloth wrapping around his face, stealing his vision, pressing down against his skull.

“Thirty minutes in the hood?” He showed her the block and she grinned wider, then nodded. She jotted the phrase down on the notepad beside her, and waved for him to continue. She waited until he had carefully put the block down on top of the tower, then explained.

“Each block has something written on it. You pull them out until the tower falls, and then we see what you’ve won.” She arched an eyebrow at him and gave him an exaggerated, saucy wink.

He licked his lips. “So why wouldn’t I just knock the tower over right now?” He loved the kink, but games were serious things, and rules should be carefully crafted.

She shrugged. “You could do that. But there are rewards in there as well.”

He frowned skeptically.

She crossed her heart with one finger, and stuck it straight up in the air. “Cross my heart and hope to die, there are genuine rewards in there. Things you will enjoy, like getting a steak and a blowjob.”

“And you won’t…”

“Tie you up and eat the steak while I shove my dildo down your throat?” She laughed again, appreciating his caution, not impatient. Yet. “No, I’m flattered that you think I’m such a sadistic cunt, but I’ll play them straight. The good ones will be genuinely good. On the other hand, the bad ones will be genuinely bad.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Or you could just knock the tower over.”

He looked at the block, and tried to remember how many blocks he could usually pull out before it fell. His hand rubbed his mouth, and he tried to figure out where she would have put the blocks with rewards. “And you’re not going to take a turn?”

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s a one player game. For now.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants and steadied his breathing, then slowly reached out and grabbed ahold of one of the wooden blocks.

She was grinning again. It was the slightly goofy, slightly dorky grin she wore whenever she had already won something. When he was painted into a corner, or couldn’t escape.

Or didn’t want to escape.

Preview: It looks like Nauvaux is in for a spanking… but who knows, maybe some needle play will show up as well? Tune in Friday to find out. And maybe see more anachronistic phrases like “tune in.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.